The Journey of My Destiny
by Tarabridget87
Summary: (on hiatus) 14 year old Satine abandons her ordinary life to pursue her dream as an actress. With no money, she struggles in Montmarte to avoid the inevitable fate of becoming a creature of the underworld and meets her first sweetheart in the process.
1. Ch 1 Leaving Home

**A/N: **This is narrated by Satine. Enjoy.     :o)

CHAPTER ONE

The mark of my life's turning point was when I was the tender age of 14, young and innocent. It was a pleasant fall night in the inner city of Paris, where I lived in my apartment with my uncle. My uncle had taken me under his wing after my parents had died and we lived alone in our tiny apartment, hoping to earn enough money to find a better way of life. I had not seen him in days, but this was not unusual as he sometimes worked late or went to a saloon after work. I had just gotten home from work and was beginning to relax after a long day when a loud series of knocks interrupted my peace. At the door was a co-worker of my uncle's and he explained firstly that he had some unfortunate news concerning my uncle. The man removed his ragged hat in respect and told me that there had been an explosion at the factory several days ago. 

My uncle had died in the accident. The management did not report the incident to avoid any legal prosecution, though even if they had been found out there was rarely justice for working class families who lost someone dear to them. I remembered when the man next door, Mr. Hanover, had lost his right hand in a faulty machine – the boss gave him a week's wages and fired him. Mr. Hanover tried to fight the factory owner in court only to be defeated, most likely because the owner had bribed the court in his favor. Mr. Hanover, disabled and not being able to pay the rent for long, was turned out by the landlord and I never heard of him again. 

It is general knowledge in the inner city that the corruption in business and in government could not be changed, only accepted. With this knowledge, I understood that my uncle's co-worker's condolences was the only closure I would receive. I thanked the man for taking the time to inform me of my uncle's fate - which otherwise I probably would have never found out - and sorrowfully shook his hand.

Though my uncle and I were not very close, I appreciated his generosity and knew he was a good man. My uncle was all I had in the world and now I was utterly alone. I fought with myself not to cry – there was a crisis at hand and I needed to be strong. I was left with nothing but an empty apartment and very little money. My meager wages at the sewing factory was nowhere near enough to keep up with the rent. I was sure the landlord was bound to discover my secret and would call the authorities to rid of me, so I outsmarted him and left the next morning before he had the chance.

            As soon as I stepped out onto the street, I was swept up in a crowd of city folk and since I had no particular destination, I decided to follow them. The crowd went in no specific direction, just crossing streets from time to time or turning a corner. Every so often, a person pushed their way out to go off to work and a new person shoved their way in as they left their apartment.

I felt at ease while walking with the crowd. Though I hadn't anyplace to go, they were all so sure of where they were going. Somehow being pressed up against these strangers as we shoved along the streets, I felt apart of their journey, which was quite comforting to believe I had a place to go and someone to go with.

I soon lost track of where we were going. I was too intrigued with the splendor of the city. Though there was poverty and filth, I could not help but admire how tall the detailed buildings were and the beautiful, weathered statues along the sidewalks. Hardly having time for myself trying to earn a day's wages, I was sadly not familiar with my home city, thus I was amazed during my first tour.

 I thought perhaps with my new life, I would become a productive citizen of the city and not remain a nameless cog of a factory's industry. Perhaps if luck was on my side, I would have the chance to explore the city and learn new things. Being forced to leave school at 9 years of age to go to work, I was always eager to learn and experience new things. Though I was overworked and tired, I still had the mind of a child.

Walking along the streets that lovely day, I dreamed of a better life, just waiting for me to seize it. I passed many shops and buildings, sometimes watching the workers in the windows. Inspired by my observations, I imagined myself in their occupations, considering each one for my new life. I had envisioned myself working at many jobs, such jobs as a baker, a nurse and a dress shop owner. They all seemed to be fairly interesting careers, but nothing had struck me as the perfect one.

And then, there it was. It's attractive, colorful billboard and it's enormous, intricately carved entrance doors stole away my attention. It was the city theatre; a large, beautiful building that had no doubt housed the great plays of the world and was where the famous actors and actresses of France came to perform. 

I had once gone to a theatre with my grandmother when I was young. I didn't remember what play we had gone to see, but I vividly remembered the heavy make-up, the ornate costumes, the bright lights, the delightful music, the cheering when the curtain fell . . . and most of all, the star of the show, Madam Hannifin. Madam Hannifin had a booming, enchanting voice that filled even the backs of the theatre and the way she spoke the simplest lines drove the audience into tears. When the play had come to an end, the audience clapped wildly and threw roses at her feet as she curtsied. I remembered I'd told my grandmother that some day I would be just like Madam Hannifin and everyone would love me as they did her. My grandmother laughed affectionately and told me that if the theatre was where my heart was, then I should do anything it takes to follow my dream. Going to that play with my grandmother had completely escaped my mind for years, but it was there on that street, gazing up at the grand theatre, that I remembered my true calling – to be a real actress. 

**FROM BEETLE: **Thanks for reading; the story still has some ways to go. I know how you're probably thinking it's going to go, but I promise, it'll be very different than what you expect. Please review for me and let me know what you think of it . . . I'll love you forever if you do – and I still will even if you don't.   :o)

**DISCLAIMER: **I don't own the Moulin Rouge or any of it's characters, just my story.


	2. Ch 2 The Theatre

CHAPTER 2

            I shoved my way through the crowd and stopped at the side of the street, gaping at the theatre. I wondered how one could obtain a job acting in the theatre. I, of course, had no experience and knew nothing about how it was run. Nonetheless, I crossed the street and approached the magnificent building. As I got closer, I noticed colorful posters that were behind glass, advertising various plays. Having never seen such things, the posters captured my attention. I noticed some of the posters seemed a little worn, tinged yellow of pollution and the corners starting to fall down, but it was the pictures that interested me. Most were of a man and woman in each other's arms, romantically gazing at one another or some were dancing together, the women in extravagant gowns. Becoming excited imagining myself in one of those gorgeous dresses, I tugged at the giant door's cold iron handles. I found that, to my disappointment, everything was locked up. 

            Uncertain of what to do next but determined to speak with someone, I looked around for another entrance. Off to the side of the building was a plain-looking door that I suspected might be an office of some sort where perhaps the owner worked. I sprinted to the door and tried to make myself presentable. I knocked loudly on the door and awaited a response, but none came. After a moment, I knocked again and this time an angry, deep voice shouted, "Keep your pants on, I'm coming!" I straightened up and cleared my throat.

            A stout, middle-aged man answered the door. A foul-smelling cigar lay between his cracked, rough lips and his thin, greasy hair was combed to one side of his head in attempt to cover his baldness. The dark circles around his eyes and the manner in which he squinted once in the light of day suggested he was exhausted and had not been out for days. He appeared to be very annoyed for this disturbance and glared down at me.

            "Yeah?"

            "Bonjour, monsieur. My name is Satine."

            "What do you want?" the man grunted hastily.

            "Well, you see . . . I was wondering how I could get a job here as an actress?" I inquired. The man did not seem surprised at my question, nor did it seem he was considering it. He rolled his eyes and responded flatly,

            "Sorry, we're not auditioning anyone right now." He began to close the door, but I persisted.

            "I can sing and dance," I informed him. I was told more than once that I had a lovely voice and I did enjoy dancing.

            "So can a lot of people," he argued, closing the door further.

            "But, I have _tons_ of experience and I'm a wonderful actress," I blurted out dramatically. This was a lie - I had never been involved with theatre, but I was certain I could become a talented actress if given the chance. 

            The man reopened the door and stared at me suspiciously. "You look too young to be experienced," he challenged.

            "I'm 17," I retorted, once again lying, as I was only 14. I'd hoped he would believe me because I _did_ look a bit older than my age.

            The man's expression remained unchanged. "Oh really? And I suppose you've been enrolled in all the essential acting classes?" he asked with a hint of sarcasm.

            I nodded, even though I had never before even considered the idea that actors and actress went to acting schools.

"And what productions have you been in?" 

            Remembering one of the posters that I first encountered, I promptly replied, "My most recent was Zaïre." 

            "Zaire, eh? And what role did you play?" He questioned further, still unconvinced.

            At this I was beaten and I remained silent. The man folded his arms across his wide chest. I could not conjure up a clever response, so instead answered,

            "I . . . uh . . . "

            The man laughed at my failed attempt to produce an efficient lie and began to close the door again. "Go home, kid."

            "Wait! Please, monsieur, give me a chance." I pleaded, stepping closer toward him.

            The man looked at me pitifully and sighed. "Listen, do you have any idea how many trained and professional people audition to get a role here? And even all of them don't make the cut. You can't just walk in here with no experience and a pretty face, expecting to make it onstage."

            "But . . . " my voice trailed off as I realized that he was right. I avoided his eyes and looked to my scuffed, old shoes, noticing a developing hole near the toe. How could I, a homeless, impoverished girl with no claim to experience in any line of work besides sewing come here hoping to be an actress? I felt foolish and ashamed. 

            "I am sorry, but that's just not how the theatre works," he stated honestly. I bowed my head in embarrassment for my ignorance and said nothing. He sighed and turned around back into his office. "Hang on a minute," he muttered.

            I looked up, curious as to where he had gone. I craned my neck over and just visible was the man rummaging hurriedly through piles of scattered papers on a desk, searching for something in particular. At last, he snatched up a crumpled piece of paper and returned to the doorway. He unfolded the paper and handed it to me. 

            _"The Moulin Rouge! in Montmarte."_ it said. _"A nightclub, the dance hall of the bordello . . . A kingdom of nighttime pleasures . . . Where the rich and powerful come to play with the young and beautiful creatures of the underworld."_ Being of an innocent age, I did not understand what it meant. Not wanting to appear immature, I paid no attention to the top portion and continued to read the rest of the paper. _"Searching for young, beautiful girls wanting to experience the exciting life of a can-can dancer. No experience necessary. – Harold Zidler." _Once finished, I shifted my gaze from the picture of a windmill against the night sky of Paris back up to the man, a bit confused.

"Some bloke was passing 'em out on the street last night," he mumbled. "If it's the stage you're looking for, maybe you'd have more luck there, kid. Sounds like there might be some sort of dancing show put on there . . . it could be a start, anyway."

**FROM BEETLE:** What happens next is a little different. Please, please, please review!

**DISCLAIMER:** I don't own any of the Moulin Rouge or it's characters, just my story.


	3. Ch 3 Welcome to the Moulin Rouge

CHAPTER 3 

_"No experience necessary."_ I re-read the line for what must've been the thousandth time as I traveled along the sidewalk, just to make sure I was reading it correctly. The soft golden glow of the streetlamp provided sufficient enough light to clearly see that my eyes did not lie. Night had fallen and I had been walking all day, trying to find my way to this "Montmarte" village. 

I had asked for directions a great number of times, getting disapproving looks from those that I asked, one woman even refused to tell me. "Do not go to that village of sin!" she exclaimed. "You are so young and impressionable. The creatures of the underworld will corrupt you and you will be lost forever!" I paid no heed to this woman or to any of the lot because they did not understand that this was my chance to make something of myself. Once I became a skilled dancer, I'd be the star of the Moulin Rouge and then perhaps I would be allowed to audition for the theatre, as I'd be a well-known performer. 

I clutched the paper excitedly, sensing I was nearing the Moulin Rouge. The streets, shops and buildings were festive, with decorative lights and impressive artwork. People of all likes walked merrily about the street greeting random strangers as if they were long-time friends. Notes of beautiful music floated out from apartment windows and filled the streets. I had the feeling that this was Montmarte. But, it did not seem like a village of sin to me at all. Rather, it seemed quite inviting and friendly. 

Now that I had reached Montmarte, I looked to the sky and searched for a clue as to where I could find the Moulin Rouge. In the corner of my eye, I noticed red bulbs of light moving in a circular motion. I turned to see that in the not-so-far-off distance was a massive windmill, brilliantly lighted up. I compared the picture on the advertisement with the actual windmill before me and was certain that that was the Moulin Rouge. Where else would there be a windmill in the middle of a town? I smiled and began to run in the direction of the windmill, following the dazzling lights and movement its sails. 

            I panted breathlessly as I tore through the streets; I was too excited to walk! An overwhelming feeling of joy filled me to the brim knowing how close I was to the place where my new life would begin. My eyes wide and a huge smile on my face, I skidded to a halt in front of the towering windmill. 

            The whole area surrounding the windmill seemed to be in celebration. It appeared as if there was a circus outside – snake charmers, magicians, and other interesting performers were to be found in the crowd amusing spectators. There were all sorts of people nearby, some flooding into the Moulin Rouge, some enjoying the entertainment outside. 

            I, however, knew that my business was inside. I had to find Harold Zidler and tell him I was his future star can-can dancer. I watched as many of the entertainers as I could on my way to the doors, absorbing the crazy, fantastic scene. A man in a clean, black suit guarded the entrance. I worried for a moment that he might not let me pass if I looked too young. I smiled sweetly as I approached the door and he smiled in return, nodding at me. He seemed to be permitting me to enter, so I strolled inside.

            Music blared from every direction. Glitter drifted around in the hot, heavy air. Dancers kicked their legs high, revealing their under garments. Elderly and young men alike dressed in elegant tuxedos watched the dancers eagerly, some dancing with them. It was a completely different world from that of the outside.  

Taken aback by the madness of it all, I was unsure of what to do. I didn't know what I had expected it to be like, but I certainly would have never imagined it to be like this. I stood still and could do nothing but observe the insanity. I decided to think this over before I made any decisions. I turned around to leave when a large, cheerful-looking man with heavy make-up and a tall top hat dashed in front of me. He grabbed my hand and shook it with enthusiasm. 

"Welcome to the Moulin Rouge!" he cried spiritedly. "I am Harold Zidler," he introduced himself, leaning close to my face. His breath reeked of liquor.

             "Pleased to meet you," I stammered. He seemed friendly enough, but something about him frightened me.

            "What is it you're looking for, my dear?"

            Remembering why I had come, I retrieved my advertisement from my pocket and held it up to show him.

            "I wanted to ask about becoming a can-can dancer."  

            "Oh, I see," said Zidler, appearing pleased. "Won't you come into my office?"

            Zidler lead me around back to where his "office" was. I stepped into the tiny room, expecting it to appear similar to the man's office back at the theatre, a mess of papers and important scripts. Zidler's office was not this way at all. It was painted a warm red color with all sorts of oddities and decorations scattered around the room. Zidler seated himself in a colorful, beautifully designed chair. He motioned me to sit in the simpler chair on the other side.

            "Now, what is your name?"

            "Satine," I responded timidly.  

"That's a pretty name," he said, lighting a cigar and puffing on it. "So, you want to be a can-can dancer, eh?" 

            "Well . . . " Recalling the crazy scene I had witnessed when I first walked in, I wasn't so sure about this. Sensing my doubtfulness, he did not wait for a response and continued.

            "A girl as pretty as you would make a wonderful addition to our happy little family," Zidler complimented.

            "Thank you, sir. But, I think I was mistaken . . . I thought there was a show put on here."

            "My little strawberry, the show goes on all night," he laughed. He watched me, expecting me to join in the laughter. After a few moments of my silence, he sensed my disappointment.

            "Not what you were expecting to find?"

            "It's just that . . . I want to be an actress," I admitted seriously. "I suppose I was hoping I could get a chance to dance or sing for an audience so I could get experience onstage."

            "Well . . . " he hesitated, "we _had_ a show like that." 

            "You did?" I asked eagerly.

            "Yes . . . " he spoke softly, seeming saddened. "We don't anymore."

            Curious, I prodded a little further. "Why not?" 

            "There was a dancer . . . " Zidler explained slowly. He seemed to slip into a daze. "Not just any ordinary dancer. Around here she was called the Sparkling Diamond." Zidler spoke in a depressing, bittersweet tone as he continued to unfold his story. "She was so beautiful and talented, and such a sweet girl," Zidler remembered affectionately. "But she . . . " at this he faltered and brought his cigar to his mouth. As he breathed out the hot smoke, the concluding words escaped his lips, "She left us." 

            I'd realized I was leaning forward, hanging on to his every word. I immediately sat back, questions racing in my mind. 

            "Why did she leave, Mr. Zidler?"

            He seemed surprised at the sound of my voice - I think for a moment he had forgotten anyone else was in the room. 

"I suppose she decided that she just didn't want to work here anymore. Her heart was never in it, anyway."

I said nothing, though I wanted to ask many more things – What was her name? Where did she go? What became of her? – but out of politeness, I sat quietly and thought it appropriate for him to direct the conversation as he wished.

            "Perhaps it's time I bring back the show," he proposed, returning to the present time. Zidler moved his gaze back up to mine and studied my face carefully. "Can you sing?"

            "Yes - I mean - I think so."

            "How would you like to be my new Sparkling Diamond?"

            "_Me?!_" I burst, in shock. 

            "Yes, you." Zidler chuckled, putting out his cigar.

            "But, there are already so many other talented dancers . . . " I pointed out, still in confusion over why he would want _me_ to be the Sparkling Diamond.

            "The other dancers are beautiful, but they don't have that special look that a Sparkling Diamond must have. You have natural beauty, and with a strong voice you could capture the attention of the whole room." 

            I blushed beet red and shyly tried to hide my face. "Thank you, Mr. Zidler."

            "Call me Harold, my dear. Now, how about it? Will you be the next Sparkling Diamond?" 

            I was overjoyed and could not contain my excitement any longer. My dreams were going to come true! Despite my best efforts, I blurted out, "When can I start?" 

            Zidler chuckled at my outburst. "Tonight?"

            Though this appealed to me, there was a complication. "But, I don't have a costume." 

            "Don't worry about that. Follow me, strawberry." Zidler left the office with me following not far behind. He led me back out into the main dance hall, where I had first come in. Not much had changed during my absence - everything was still chaotic as it was before. After a few moments, Zidler leaned close and spoke to me in a discreet manner, the cigar smoke still evident on his breath.

"See that man over there?" he indicated, nodding in a specific direction. "That's Sir Gautier." Zidler paused, waiting for some sort of reply from me.

            "Er - alright . . . "

            "He's been looking for a lovely girl to . . . accompany him tonight."

            "Accompany him?"

            "You know what I mean, don't you?" Zidler turned to look me in the eye.

            "I'm not sure I do."

            "Sir Gautier has requested to spend the night with a can-can girl in return for his pay. I think he would be most pleased if you were to service him."

            I was stunned at such a suggestion. "What?! Never!"

            "Dear girl, Sir Gautier is a rich man. You would be paid a great sum and receive half, which is most generous considering the Moulin Rouge attracts such wealthy men." 

            "I don't want his money! I thought I was going to be in the show, not become a whore." I began to become distraught and could not believe what Zidler was expecting me to do.

            "Don't you understand what the Moulin Rouge is, Satine? Did you not read the advertisement?"

            Suddenly, everything fell into place. I now precisely understood what the advertisement meant. I could be a can-can dancer, but I also was to sell my love to men. I would become a creature of the underworld – plainly put, an expensive prostitute. 

            I had traveled all this way only to find that my one chance at becoming closer to getting any sort of experience without having to pay for a costly acting school required that I sell myself to men. I felt dirty – Zidler actually thought I came here knowing I would be required to do such vile things. I was so disgusted with this place, Zidler, myself . . . I needed to leave the Moulin Rouge before I broke down in tears. I stormed away from Zidler and headed towards the door.

            "Where are you going?" Zidler called after me.

            "I'm not staying in this _sinful _place another moment!" I shouted angrily. Tears began to well up in my eyes. 

            "Satine! Don't go . . . Satine!" Zidler's calls faded out as I rushed out of the doors. I tried to hide my tear-stained face as I pushed to get through the crowd that was still outside the Moulin Rouge. Everything and everyone took on a whole different light. Whereas before it all seemed pleasant and comical, now just seemed immoral and evil.

            I ran until I was as far away from the Moulin Rouge as my legs could carry me and stopped in front of an empty, dark alleyway. I sat down on the filthy cement and wept, broken-hearted. I pulled that despicable thing which had brought me here out of my pocket – the advertisement. I looked upon it with such hatred and resentment. It was then that I whispered a vow to myself: _"I'll never let myself get mixed up with such awful things."_ I crumpled it up into a ball and hurled it to the other side of the alley. I buried my head in my arms and wept without restraint into my jacket, whimpering and sniffling loudly.

            The impact of all my misfortunes was now beginning to seem much worse. Not only did I not have a job, but my newfound dream to be an actress seemed nearly impossible to achieve. I didn't care if the Moulin Rouge helped my career, I would never take part in such filthy doings. As crushed as I was, I knew I'd just have to find some other job until I had everything figured out. It probably wouldn't be a very good one, but I needed more money if I was going to make it on my own in Montmarte.

On the thought of making it on my own, it suddenly struck me that I had nowhere to sleep. I had taken the money that my uncle and I had saved up, but it wasn't much. I was so sure everything would work out that I would be able to buy a new apartment with this money and make new money at the Moulin Rouge. Now I wasn't sure if I should spend the little money I owned on an apartment when I needed to buy food until I found a new job – God knows how long that would take! It wasn't very cold at the present time, so perhaps the alley would just have to service as a place to sleep, but I couldn't sleep on the streets for long. Fall was nearly over and Winter was fast on it's way. I began to think it would've been wiser to stay in the apartment until the police had me removed – at least then I would've had a place to sleep. 

            My thoughts were abruptly interrupted when I heard a very loud voice call, "Mademoiselle?" I jerked my head up in surprise to see the owner of the voice was a tall, dark figure standing in the darkness.

**FROM BEETLE:** Please review.  :o)****

**DISCLAIMER:** I don't own Moulin Rouge or it's characters.


	4. Ch 4 A Change of Luck

**A/N:** I changed a few things in the last paragraphs of Chapter 3, to better explain some things. Nothing huge, but read it if you wish.

Now the point of view switches to someone else for a while, only temporarily. It's the "tall, dark figure" described in the previous chapter. 

CHAPTER 4

            I was on my way back home from a friend's house one night. I was awfully late coming home – I knew my mother would have fits as it was. _"Be careful . . . and come back ON TIME!"_ she always warned. When I was young, she was always worried that someone would snatch me up. Her strict rule made sense then, but now that I was older, it became somewhat unreasonable. Whenever she told me to be careful, I joked with her that no one would want to kidnap a broke 16-year old boy. She would just ball up her fists and place them seriously on her hips in response, as if to warn me not to say another word. I knew what she was afraid of now – that I would endure the same fate as my father. Eight years ago, my father had been murdered by a man trying to rob him on the street. Ever since then, my mother had become very overprotective of me. Though her controlling attitude was an annoyance and the cause of many quarrels between us, I knew it was only because she cared so much for me. We were all each other had in the world.

I hurried down the familiar streets, trying to get home soon so not to worry my mother, when I heard the faint sound of woman crying. Curious, I slowed down to a fast pace to see if I might discover where the crying was coming from. I squinted down a dark alley and stopped mid step as the shape of a girl huddled against a wall became clear. In spite of the fact I was intrigued why the girl was in such distress, I looked forward, knowing I should be on my way. But, hearing the girl's miserable sobs, I could not help but feel sorry for her. My conscious got the better of me and I decided that if I could help the lady out, it was my duty to offer my assistance. 

As I got closer, I noticed her clothes were old and worn. She was probably just like me, poor and stressed out. The worst combination - I knew what that was like: working hard every day knowing that it never really pays off. Thoughts raced through my head as I grew closer. The girl's hair tumbled down over her face as she wept into her arms, oblivious to the fact that I was watching her. I wasn't sure how to approach her – what could I say? _"Hello. You don't know me, but I noticed you crying and I wanted to know why. I hope you don't think I'm being nosy . . . "_ No, that wouldn't work. However, I didn't have any time left to think it over, as I was now right in front of her. I kept a reasonable distance, though – after all, I didn't know her and she didn't know me. 

 I cleared my throat and an accidentally too loud and too rough "Mademoiselle?" was what came out of my mouth. I clearly frightened her, as she jerked her head up in alarm. _God, you idiot!_ I thought, _you sound like a monster!_ My attempt to comfort her was failing. "Sorry, " I apologized, lowering my voice. "I didn't mean to scare you . . . " She still said nothing, only stared at me in silence. I felt foolish talking to her from so far away and moved closer, out of the shadows.

My mouth dropped slightly in astonishment. I had never seen her before - she was very beautiful, her face so young and flawless. Her lovely red curls cascaded over her shoulders and back. Her eyes were what captivated me most – a stunning shade of light blue and shaped so perfectly. I had never seen such beauty before in real life.

I suddenly became extremely embarrassed, realizing that I was practically gawking at her. I composed myself and attempted to finish what I was saying. "I just . . . heard you crying and I wanted to make sure you were alright."

The girl sighed heavily, seeming somewhat relieved. She smiled weakly and nodded. "Thank you," she spoke. "I'm fine." Her voice was soft and sweet, but her tone was miserable. I wished I could help the girl in some way, but she didn't seem to want to talk about whatever was bothering her.

"Can I walk you home?" I asked.

"I don't have a home," she confessed, her gaze averting to the ground.

"Don't have a home?" I echoed.

She nodded sorrowfully. "I've just arrived in Montmarte. I don't have an apartment yet."

"Where are you staying for the night?"

She shrugged. "Out here, I suppose." 

"Here? Outside?" I asked in effort to confirm that we were both thinking the same thing. Surely she wasn't planning on sleeping outside! The wind was picking up and it would only get colder. The girl nodded, to my surprise, and left me in disbelief. 

"That won't do, you can't sleep out here," I insisted. "Why don't you come stay at my house?"

She seemed taken aback by my offer, but resisted. "No, I couldn't . . . "

"Well you certainly can't just sleep out here in the cold."

"Don't worry about me. Besides, I'd feel guilty. I don't have a job and I'd never be able to repay you."

"Just consider yourself a guest, you won't be indebted to me in any way," I assured her. I'd hoped she would accept, but again refused.

"I'm sorry, I can't . . . " her sweet voice trailed off. 

"Just for tonight, tomorrow you can look for a job," I promised. She sighed at my persistence and looked up to me.

"Okay," she said, smiling slightly. I hadn't thought it possible, but she was even more beautiful when she smiled. I beamed at her, pleased she would accept the offer. I held out my hand and helped her off the ground. "Thank you so much," she expressed gratefully. "For letting me stay in your home, I mean."

"Think nothing of it," I smiled, putting my hands in my pockets and beginning to walk. "So what's your name?"

"Satine," she responded, catching up with me. "What's yours?" 

"William."

**FROM BEETLE: **More soon. PLEEEEASE review!! Thanks!  :o)

**DISCLAIMER:** Don't own anything from the Moulin Rouge.


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